The Eighth
by ForeverBulla
Summary: Draco houses an eighth horcrux, and with the help of Hermione Granger, he must battle his family, his beliefs and himself to make everything right again. 'Amid all the chaos that day, when all he could hear were screams echoing in his head, and all he could smell was the blood pooling around him, he is surprised that he could think those three words with such clarity and ease.'


_The Eighth_

 _Chapter 1_

(Totally random idea for a story that I think could work out quite cool. Please bare with me and review to let me know what you think! xx)

* * *

As Harry eased in and out of consciousness, he felt himself growing more distant. Through the _white hot_ pain and searing nausea that burned through his entire core, he struggled to hold on to anything to keep himself grounded. To keep himself holding onto reality.

To not _slip away_.

If all of this agony was happening to Harry, he did not show it as he lay almost _lifeless_ on the forest floor _._

''Is he alive? Draco. Is he alive?''

 _What? Who?_

Harry nodded anyway. He didn't care if he was dead. He didn't know.

* * *

Draco Malfoy reeled. The world around him blurred and became nothing more than background noise. He searched his mind as far as it could reach to source the pain.

His heart quickened in panic. _I'm dying._

Draco gasped, out of his depth and wheezing, like a fish out of water. He fumbled with the buttons on his collar, craving oxygen.

 _Oh Gods, what is this?_

With every breath in, fire raged inside him. With every exhale, ice froze his soul. With his buttons ripped from their threads, he held is throat, trying to breath.

 _In and out._

People ran around him. _Through_ him. Their screams bubbled to the surface. Their bodies crashed and collided, with blue and green light flying above their heads. It could've been a dream if he let it. If he just _pretended_.

''Draco! _Draco!_ ''

Crabbe stood over his friend, gazing down at him, not caring that the blood streaming down his face dripped down onto Draco's white shirt.

Draco lifted his watery eyes and struggled to his feet.

Instantly, his head spun, and he faltered against the crumbling wall behind him. The cracked ground became a puddle of gravel and blood and vomit.

Crabbe ran ahead, not giving his friend a second glance.

A crowd began to gather in the courtyard, with hushed whispers rising into the air. Draco followed, still weak from his random episode of pain and nausea. He stood; elevated on a top stair at the back of the forming crowd, peering over a sea of heads to see what was taking place around him.

The atmosphere was thick with horror, as were the grounds with red blood as figures began to appear in the fog across the courtyard. The Dark Lord glided through the air effortlessly, with what Draco sensed as a new sense of regal confidence.

''Who is that Hagrid is carrying? Neville, who is it?'' Ginny Weasley whispered a few steps down from Draco.

His heart thumped, embarrassingly fast, he thought, for someone who should be rejoicing in his supreme leader's success; for Hagrid held a limp and lifeless Harry Potter in his arms.

His arch enemy was dead. Why did he feel empty? There was no happiness or even triumph. The dark side had won and he had never felt more _shit._ His soul was a dark and empty cloud of contradictory feelings that absolutely _consumed_ him.  
He stood with the teenagers of his year group, friends and foes, and looked on at what _they_ saw when they stood in front of the Dark Lord. He looked on and tried to feel what _they_ felt. But he felt nothing. He was a bottomless pit of numb feelings, dulled by countless years of working for the Dark Lord out of fear and obligation.  
With that thought Draco realised that he had been shaped into the perfect weapon. He was the assassin you paid do get the job done. He was the secret ammunition in your inventory.

He didn't let anything get _personal_.

''Harry Potter...is... _DEAD_!''

Noise drowned out everything else. Scenes were unfolding around him, all separate yet apart of the same cause. They all cared.  
Cared about _him_.

He was enraged. A hot fury swarmed around his body fighting to get out. His fury morphed – it continued to merge and change as a thousand feelings washed over him in one second.

'' _Draco._ ''

Draco looked around. Faces, countless faces were watching him. His eyes grazed over them, not focusing on anyone in particular. He felt the same nausea as before and blinked hard to bring himself back to reality.

'' _Draco._ ''

His Father, on the other side of the courtyard was beckoning to him.

 _Come, come_.

 _Go._

He knew he must. For the sake of his family. For the sake of his history.

For his reputation. His _beliefs_.

Did he believe in it? In the Dark Lord?

 _Yes._

He swiftly walked through the crowd, who made a pathway for him to middle of the courtyard where the Dark Lord was waiting to meet him halfway.

 _For my family._

''Ah, _Draco_.'' Voldemort said his name with such pride and happiness as he came closer before sweeping him in a stiff hug.

Draco's body tensed re-actively, fearing he would die just from his touch. He tensed his jaw, only to stop himself from quivering in front of his leader. When released, Draco walked to his mother and father, whose faces drew a grim expression, much like his own.

Now he became what the others saw. He looked at his friends and foes and became a part of the evil that they looked on to.

He dared them to look him the eye. He _dared_ them to try and understand what it was like to know both sides, but to have to belong to one. No one met his gaze.

Not one person looked, except Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger, who stood so loyal at Ron's side, glaring at him as though he was the most despicable person she'd ever known.

He stared back.

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, who, after the kiss they just shared, though it was a spontaneous act of romance.  
No.  
She was _mad_ , and the only thing that would stop her from yelling out to that _ferret_ in blind rage, was Ron's tight grip on her hand.

It twisted inside them both. They were always connected by some dark, sick hatred and they both knew it. He had seen and heard her cry more than anyone else, in his _home_ no less. She had aggravated him and challenged him more than anyone else.

As an innocent first year at Hogwarts, he remembered he thought he would have _liked_ her in another life, if she were a Slytherin. If she were a pureblood.

But he was _supposed_ to hate her. His father demanded it. His own heritage _demanded_ it.

...and God, it's so much easier hating someone you should, than wanting someone you shouldn't.

In an instant, the whole atmosphere changed. There was noise and cries of relief that disrupted the death and horror that was beginning to settle around them.

Harry Potter was _alive_.

Harry, who had just jumped from Hagrids arms, picked himself up from the ground, feeling some unearthly power erupting inside of himself. He _would_ kill Voldemort. In the moments that past, spells began shooting out from Harry's wand. Voldemort retaliated, with an obvious lack in strength.

Everyone's eyes watched as good fought evil. As the light side fought the dark.

They stopped, watching each other like prey. They started again.

Nagini, The Dark Lords snake slipped down the stairs of the Entrance Hall, so quiet and graceful, not one person turned around. Draco's eyes subconsciously met Grangers once more, and flicked back to the snake. Hermione saw this and turned, with Ron's hand still in her grasp. They spun around to see Nagini slithering towards them, with black eyes locked on them.

Ron stumbled back, his heart thumping from his chest. He tripped backwards onto a pile of heaped rocks, pulling Hermione down with him.

 _This is it_.

Ron had always thought himself useless. He didn't have the brains like Hermione or the bravery of Harry. He was just _there_.

H couldn't even protect the girl he had fallen for. Instead he lay there, out of view from the duel, from the crowd, waiting for the snake to attack. At least they would die together.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, hugging Hermione close to his body. Hermione did the same, feeling helplessness wash over her over and over again.

Nagini slowed, ready to launch herself. Her jaws widened, showing her sharp fangs that were ready to dig into their flesh.

They never thought Neville would be their saving grace. He swung a sword and took the snakes head off with one swing.

Black mist escaped from her dead body. It swirled up into the sky like an explosion, often showing a stretched out, deformed version of the Dark Lords face. His soul was lost. The part of his soul, that he had cast into Nagini, evaporated elegantly as if it were only ever meant to be free in the sky.

As this scene took place, many things happened:

Hermione and Ron kissed, relieved they were alive.

Voldemort stopped duelling, feeling a pain unlike any other.

Draco fell to the ground in agony.

 _Draco! Draco!_

His mother knew. All this time she knew.

Draco housed a part of the Dark Lords soul inside him. As she watched her only beloved son writhe among the dirt as Nagini died. The Dark Lords soul inside her son ached with the pain that one of its counterparts had died.

She cried. Oh how she wanted to go back to the night the Dark Lord came to her. She would do anything to take her sons pain away. She remembered the pure joy she felt when her son was born at the end of July, when she held her pureblood boy, with hair so blonde, with such pride.

But she knew he needed it. He needed to feel this pain to retain the strength he needed to be a follower of the Dark Lord.

Lucius looked on, eyes bouncing from his Lord to his son, both of whom he loved, and was afraid of. He looked to his wife, whose tears fell so beautifully, he wondered how she managed to harbour such grace in a time like this.

He knew that she loved their son beyond anything else, for her love was as strong as Lily Potters, the night the Dark Lord tried to kill their son through blind rage.

That night, Voldemort went on a rampage. He believed Harry Potter to be a dead infant, and rejoiced in his evil success. He saw Draco, an infant just the same, born at the end of July as the prophecy said and began to doubt Lucius and Narcissas loyalty.

 _Had they betrayed and defied him three times as the prophecy said?_

In a wild act of blind passion and rage; he tried to kill Draco Malfoy too.

Alas, Lucius and Narcissa hadn't betrayed their leader, nor was their son the _Chosen One_ , but it was too late. As the Dark Lord tried to murder the young Draco, he had inadvertently made him the eighth horcrux.

The Dark Lord believed Lucius to have protected his son, warding off his own deadly spells. Yet, he did not know it was his mother, Narcissa, who had protected their son through such pure and devout love.

* * *

And there we go! How did you like it?

I'm aware Draco's ACTUAL birthday is June 5th, but for the sake of fitting the prophecy, it is now the end of July.

Please, please give a moment to review and let me know what you think! x


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